Meals On (Two) Wheels: The Barn on Holloway Road

A north London cafe that has earned its rightful place amongst the capital's top gastronomic choices

The Barn could be that place you take a photo of for when you’re down in the dumps. The layout, the staff and the homemade food make for an unforgettable experience.

This lower-ground eatery (you have to go down a few steps before you enter food heaven) is located on Holloway Road, north London, a short saunter from Highbury and Islington Tube and Overground stations and around the corner from Arsenal Football Club’s The Emirates.

With so many restaurants and greasy spoons around, a food lover is always spoiled for choice in this area. I’ve had some lovely fish and chips from Fish and Skewers, just on the other side of the road. I have used my injera to mop up the juices of cubed tender lamb in my awaze tibs at Mesi’s Kitchen.

However, when it comes to breakfast, I’ll stop at The Barn, if time allows. The key phrase is “if time allows”. Time stops at The Barn. You’re ushered to your seat by one of the three brothers who run the café and immediately you feel at home. A home you’re not in any rush to leave any time soon.

On my latest visit I went for the grilled halloumi on toast with roast veg combo. It also came with mixed baby leaf, balsamic glaze and chilli oil. All this was laid on two pieces of toasted ciabatta. The ciabatta was warm, the salad crunchy and the halloumi nicely done. To drink, I had what I always have: a strong mocha (sometimes with a triple shot of espresso, if I’m in the mood)

The place was almost empty when I arrived but after a few minutes two regulars came down. I realised they were regulars because the staff asked about both their wellbeing and that of their relatives’. One of them was a woman who pulled out a laptop from her bag. Another one who was not going to leave any time soon.

Restaurants, cafes and bars have taken a big hit during these Covid-ravaged times. It goes without saying that whenever I’ve got the time and finances to stop at one of these establishments and sample their food, I do so without thinking of a certain price hike (bearing in mind that the bill came up to just over a tenner, that was not a bad deal). Places like The Barn are not just food joints but hubs. The man eating his “The Barn Breakfast” two tables away from me would definitely agree.

Meals On (Two) Wheels: The Full Monty

A culinary wonder in London’s East End

It’d been a while since I’d gone on one of my long cycling jaunts around London. This time around, with the temperature reaching the late 20s (really, September? I thought you were supposed to usher in autumn), I decided to tour the Magnificent Seven. These are seven, Victorian-era cemeteries built on the outskirts of the capital to ease the overcrowding of the existing burial grounds at the time.

I knew I was looking at a 30-mile-plus journey, so stocking up on good, belly-filling food was essential. My first stop was at one of my favourite cafes in London, The Full Monty.

One of the elements The Full Monty (formerly known as The Workers’ Café) has in its favour is its location. It sits far enough from the overpriced restaurants and eateries in Shoreditch, Hackney and Hoxton. Yet, it’s not off the beaten track completely. Situated on Globe Road, it is right next door to the London Buddhist Centre. East End legend, Ray Winstone was born in nearby Plaistow. West Ham United Football Club’s London Stadium is roughly ten to fifteen minutes away on two-wheels.

I was feeling hungry. The ride from Abney Park (where I’d started my seven-cemetery tour) had worked up an appetite in me. I’d have usually gone for the full English, but this time I opted for the full veggie instead. I wasn’t disappointed.

A generous portion of mushrooms, with fried eggs and tomatoes, two hash browns, one vegetarian sausage and two pieces of toast was all I needed to refuel. I belong to the “really well done” brigade, so I chastised myself for not telling the lovely and smiling staff to cook my egg well. Still, it was nice.

Having lived in London for close to 24 years now, I’m always on the lookout for local characters. I’ve never been afraid to strike up conversations with complete strangers, especially when these interactions help me understand an area’s culture better. On this occasion a man turned up dressed in a suit, waistcoat, shirt and tie. He also wore smart shoes. Despite the already-rising temperature, this gentleman seemed at ease with his choice of wardrobe. The way he just strolled into the café, sat at a table and shot a cursory glance at the menu, told me he was a regular. Later on, as I was unlocking my bicycle and getting ready to go, I noticed that he, too, was a cyclist. His frame was parked next to mine. Although we did exchange a few pleasantries (he was having a smoke outside), only when I was riding towards Tower Bridge later on, it occurred to me that I could have stayed behind a while longer and found out a bit about his life.

The total bill at The Full Monty came at £6.50. A snip when you have similar establishments just a mile and a half away, on Cambridge Heath Road that will charge three or four quid more for a similar meal. Although I didn’t have any beverage this time, I’d strongly recommend the mocha here. I’ve had it before and it’s the way I like my mochas: strong (double shot of espresso) and milky. I’ll certainly come back to The Full Monty again. And this time, if Mr Dapper-Man-on-a-Bicycle happens to be there as well, I’ll have my phone ready. There are some stories that need to be recorded and told.

Cuban, Immigrant, and Londoner is on sale now

Meals on (Two) Wheels

Andu Cafe: the flavour of Ethiopia in Dalston

Some of us have kept the high street food economy going with occasional takeaway orders during these lockdown times.

It was my girlfriend who told me about Andu Café in Dalston, east London. This is an area well known to both of us. We’ve been to The Arcola Theatre, just down the road and to gigs at the Dalston Eastern Curve, on Dalston Lane.

However, I knew nothing about Andu, an Ethiopian vegan restaurant on Kingsland Road. Already this is another place to add to Meal on (Two) Wheels’ ever-increasing list of must-visit cafes and eateries in the Big Smoke.

Andu’s success is a combination of low-price, high-quality food, friendly service and cash-only policy. The punters outside (some of whom looked like regulars) were evidence of this.

Beautiful, tasty and well-presented food
(photo by the author)

The menu’s simplicity betrays its tastiness. There’s only the sampler platter to try. This is a six-dish mix of spicy lentil stew, greens, spiced potatoes and onion, two split peas and some vegetables. This is usually served with either rice or injera, the traditional Ethiopian bread. I would strongly recommend choosing the latter.

I’ve written in this section before about Ethiopian food. Andu’s food is as good as Mesi’s Kitchen’s, even though the latter’s menu is far more varied.

The gomen were nice and crunchy. The yesimir wot (lentil stew cooked in a Berbere sauce) was well seasoned. The lightly curried mix of cabbage, potatoes and onions (tikil gomen) was tender and well cooked.

This is street food the way it should taste: gloriously satisfying and cheap. As London prepares to open up the doors of its cafes, restaurants and pubs, Andu’s should be on everyone’s list. Whether to sit in or take away, it won’t matter, the grub will still be good.

Meals on (Two) Wheels: Accra Palace in Upper Clapton

Who cares where jollof rice comes from when the food is this good?

The Third World War – if ever there is another one, that is – won’t start over oil or territories. No, the next world conflict will probably kick off over the provenance of one of Africa’s most delicious and emblematic dishes: jollof rice.

The coordinates we can agree on: West Africa. We can also trace its roots back to the Senegambia region, in the ancient Wolof or Jolof (see?) empire. But that’s about it. Things get a bit murky thereafter. Senegalese, Gambians, Cameroonians, Liberians, Nigerians and Ghanaians all claim ownership of this iconic recipe.

Accra Palace on Upper Clapton Road is not interested in murkiness. Its business is food. And food – good food – is what it delivers. Over time I’ve become a regular, especially when my former favourite Ghanaian restaurant, Rebecca’s in Edmonton (Enfield), is no longer within easy reach.

The dish in question (photo by the author)

The restaurant’s location is excellent. Sandwiched between Stamford Hill’s long-established Orthodox Jewish community and an already hipster-driven, gentrified Hackney, Accra Palace adds a multicultural touch to what used to be a rather drab, drive-through area.

What I love about Accra Palace is both its service and grub. Both come with a smile. My usual fix is jollof rice, fried chicken and plantain. The rice is loose and soft. I once asked one of the staff at Accra Palace what type of rice they used and she told me that they favoured long grain rice (Thai or jasmine).

The other element that makes jollof rice such a distinctive West African staple is its spice mix. In the Ghanaian version warm spices are used most of the time. This means clove, nutmeg or cinnamon. Something else that sets Ghanaians apart from other jollof rice-consuming West African countries is their use of the same protein stock (beef or chicken, for instance) to simmer their dish.

None of the above answers the one million-dollar question: where does jollof rice come from? But as long as we have places like Accra Palace, the provenance is irrelevant. Only the food – and good food at that – matters.

Meals on (Two) Wheels

Colombia may have gone out to England’s Eric Dier’s game-winning penalty in last year’s World Cup, but luckily, that temporary setback never affected its well-known cuisine. El Parador Rojo in Seven Sisters, Tottenham, is evidence of this.

Meals on (Two) Wheels has been to this restaurant a few times and it rocked up there again recently, gobbling down an overflowing plate of chicken, rice, chips, salad and beans (yes, cycling does make one hungry and the staff are familiar with our regular cycling-themed section, so the portions are usually generous).

What makes this establishment stand out in an area choc-a with international bars, cafes and restaurants is its atmosphere. El Parador Rojo is that very modern London combination of good music-filled atmosphere (no muzak here, thank you very much, just, mainly, Colombian salsa, as heart-warming as the food being served), clientele and staff. The restaurant sits on a popular corner, Seven Sisters Road and Tottenham High Road and it is well served by the Underground (Victoria Line), rail (all trains go to London Liverpool Street or Enfield/Cheshunt in the opposite direction) and an efficient bus network.

Cyclingwise (after all this section is bicycle-related), getting to El Parador Rojo is easy. This part of South Tottenham is almost incline-free and bicycle racks are dotted about. It is also part of the CS1 (Cycle Superhighway 1) and therefore full of quiet roads nearby on which to ride your two-wheeler undisturbed. Should you resume your travel eastwards, you will have Stamford Hill to contend with but that’s a small hurdle. The slope is easy to overcome and after that you have the flatter-than-flat space of east London under your feet (or wheels, rather). To the north lies Enfield and as long as you stick to the high road, including Fore Street and Hertford Road you will have a smooth journey to the sticks.

If you do encounter any hills or elevations, you can rely on the food you consume to take care of that. Whether we’re talking buñuelos (fried dough balls) or empanadas (pasties), you’re spoiled for choice at EL Parador Rojo. When Meals on (Two) Wheels last visited it found its chicken to be well-cooked, with the skin on and slightly crispy. The rice was loose and soft, just the way it should be. MoTW added a ration of plantains half way through its meal. They had a tempting, light-syrupy colour. The beans were tender.

After scraping the last bits off its plate, Meals on (Two) Wheels got back on its bike and as it cycled away, belly full and energized and with the echo of another salsa song in its ears, it thought: Now, where were we regarding hills?

© 2019

Meals on (Two) Wheels

When it comes to music, Jamaicans are never short of a banger (or more), so it goes without saying that when it comes to their cuisine they favour a zinger there as well. Rudie’s in Dalston, east London, is that kind of place where you can get a piece of real Jamaican grub at a decent price in comfy and homely surroundings.

Meals on Two Wheels rocked up there recently and after struggling to find a parking space for its bicycle (this is east London after all!), it rested its muscular behind on one of the establishment’s straight-backed seats. A gloomy and nippy winter Saturday afternoon was the only excuse needed to tuck into a plate of Peppered Shrimps and a (as it turned out) very generous portion of plantain (by the way, the correct pronunciation of "plantain" might be reason enough to start WWIII. If you don't believe me put a West-Indian and an African in the same room.). The prawns were king-sized and bathed in Boston sauce. They were accompanied by a welcome committee, made up of cherry tomatoes and avocado salsa.

Whilst over the years Meals on Two Wheels has gone from no-hot to vindaloo-hot, nothing could prepare our regular, bicycle-powered section for the might of Jamaican hot. The Old Jamaican Ginger Beer that was ordered with the bite was not enough to quell the fire. Luckily, a very helpful Italian waitress brought over a glass of milk. This went some way to mitigate the inferno caused by the Peppered King Prawns.

However, do not let this small incident put you off Rudie’s. Pound for pound, it is one of the better eateries in east London today. The shrimps were well-cooked and tender. They were also plentiful. The plantain was of the as-Mama-cooks-them-back-home variety. And at just under fifteen quid for a dish that could have been a main (their platters range from £7.50 to £12. They also cater to vegans), Rudie’s is a snip. Meals on Two Wheels has since been back with a couple of friends.

Just a piece of advice, though. Make sure that if you do go to Rudie’s, you’re not out marathon-training the next day. Your stomach might disagree with your choice.

© 2019

Meals on (Two) Wheels

Cycle from Drayton Park, down Holloway Road to Highbury Corner and you will be treated to a slice of the broad culinary life London has to offer. From Mexican takeaway Amigos to purpose-built boozer The Lamb, in this short stretch of Islington, someone like me, a navel-gazing, metropolitan, two-wheel-enthusiast (or whatever recent appellation Nigel Farage and his gang of merry Brexiteers have come up with to describe us, Remain-supporting city-dwellers), is never far away from top quality nosh.

Choosing an eatery where to rest my forty-something-year-old bones while avoiding the Christmas razzmatazz recently proved to be a bit of a hard find. I finally settled for Mesi’s Kitchen, a restaurant that billed itself as the hub of authentic Ethiopian cuisine.

Mesi’s did not disappoint at all. I had the azifa as a starter. Served cold, this was a beautifully presented vegan-friendly dish consisting of whole lentils cooked, mashed and blended with onions, jalapeño and vegetable oil. A hint of garlic and lemon juice provided a much-welcomed touch of zing. The lentils were tender and had a nice kick to them.

This was followed by the main course, awaze tibs. Lamb cubes marinated and sautéed with onion, tomato and seasoned butter. All served with salad on a bed of Injera, a large wheat-and-rice-made pancake that lined the whole plate on which the lamb was served. The meat was cooked to perfection, including the edges (I’m certainly not a fussy eater, but one of my gripes with Turkish cuisine, for instance, is that their grills char the sides of the meat all too often). The awazw tibs was hot but not too hot. It was the sort of spiciness that normally leaves a lingering, pleasant aftertaste long after the last piece of meat has been digested.

Outside, London had turned a winter-crackling, soft-grey colour. I am not a fan of winter at all (give me autumn and spring any time), especially the snow-free variety that the British capital offers, but I do like the renewal-like feel this season brings. This is the time of the year when the falling leaves from autumn become fallen leaves on pavements, rooftops and awnings. On the latter two, very often leaves take the shape of birds. A beak-looking one here, an is-it-or-is-it-not flutter of wings there. Dark-brown leaves whose gentle motion is caused by a cold-snap breeze that forces pedestrians to zip up and rush on.

Inside, even the music didn’t disappoint. Instead of the usual, season-specific Mariah Carey letting everyone know several times a day, week in, week out, what she wanted for Christmas, Mesi’s Kitchen offered a varied selection of Ethiopian music, some of which I was familiar with through my love of Gigi. Old-time Ethiopique recordings mixed with modern pop in a smooth blend that sounded nothing like the muzak you usually get in more upmarket (and pricier) places.

Two expressos later (very good, by the way. Strong as I like them.) it was time to saddle up and go. The bill came at £18.90. Not bad for a part of London where you would normally cough up two thirds of that just for the starter. As I got back on my bike and cycled down Drayton Park, the day’s earlier crispiness had become an early-evening ice-cold snap. I pedalled away finding myself humming, surprisingly, a melody by Tèshomè Meteku.

© 2018

All photos were taken by the blog author

Meals on (Two) Wheels

The autumn equinox is but two days old when I find myself in a short-sleeve top cycling along the Regent’s Canal west London-bound. My destination? Acklam Village, on Portobello Road. More than my two feet pedalling me forward, what drives me towards this street food heaven is a Proustian madeleine: a long-held desire to sink my teeth into a well-cooked Cuban sandwich again.

The waterway is teeming with sun-seekers, willing to soak up the last drop of warmth this surprising, still-lingering summer has gifted us. It is like watching bees and butterflies feasting on late flowers in back gardens.

I arrive at Acklam Village desperate for some heart-filling nosh and Leximan, le chef at Taste of Cuba* is happy to oblige. Here is a man who not so long ago was trying to build his own musical career only to realise that his future lay in the kitchen. Good for him, we need more cooks like Leximan. His signature dish is the Cuban sandwich, Santiago-style, and he certainly brings a personal touch to it. Roasted for approximately seven hours, the meat looks soft and tender. I go for the whole gallimaufry: the meat, diced finely and de-boned, a few pieces of skin, two slices of ham and cheese, plenty of salad, a dollop of chilli sauce and a bit of ketchup and mustard. The latter two are not really necessary and too much of the red and yellow stuff can mar a tasty dish.

I would describe myself as a “first bite/last bite” type of eater. This is easy to explain. The first mouthful sets the mood, tests the taste buds and asks questions. The last morsel on the plate is the one you want to savour slowly and take home with you. That last spoonful or forkful guarantees the return ticket to the restaurant or café.

Leximan does not disappoint at all. The only comparison I can draw is to the final scene of Ratatouille when the food critic Anton Ego eats the eponymous dish prepared by Remy the rat. Just like Anton and the childhood memories the rodent’s recipe triggers in him, Leximan’s Cuban sandwich reminds me of my much-loved, much-missed, late grandmother. She was the one in charge of cooking the pork in my house.

The first bite I take leaves me licking my lips. The meat is well pulled, tasty, tender, juicy and it has a kick to it. The skin is crackly, just the way I like. Neither the cheese nor the ham interferes with the flavour. I notice that I am scarfing down the food and force myself to slow down. I look around. Leximan’s stall is flanked by two Latin American joints: a Venezuelan and a Peruvian. A woman is singing a The Cranberries song in the indoor bar. Couples wander around feeding each other. Wherever you turn there is the unmistakable sign of activity. A couple of Far Eastern-looking women stop and check the menu at Leximan’s stall. As I take the last bite of my Cuban sandwich I am reminded once more of the bees and butterflies gorging on late flowers in back gardens in this still-lingering summer. I wave goodbye and saddle up. Still in short sleeves, down the Regent’s Canal.

* Although I have known Leximan for a few years now I paid for my food and this review is completely independent.

© 2017

Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum

 Photography: Louise Hagger for the Guardian

I confess that when I first heard the recent horror stories about people getting wounded whilst trying to cut avocados I laughed. I was not being mean, I swear. I felt sympathetic to those involved in avocado-caused accidents. It 's just that the way these injuries were described was... hard to believe. Most people apparently got cut trying to flesh out the large seed. Any Cuban (or Mexican, or Brazilian) will tell you that if you quarter (there, that's a massive clue) the avocado, the seed will fall out without any further intervention.

I love avocado, which is the reason why I am posting this recipe. I am always looking for new ways of getting the best of this highly nutritional fruit. Yotam's recipe offers a new twist.

Avocado with curried prawns and lime

100ml groundnut oil
1 banana shallot, peeled and halved lengthways, then each half cut lengthways into quarters
1 red chilli, deseeded and thinly sliced
20 fresh curry leaves
2 tsp coriander seeds
1 tsp black mustard seeds
2 limes, 1 finely shaved and juiced, the other cut into four wedges, to serve
Salt
300g sustainably sourced raw king prawns, peeled and deveined (cooked peeled prawns are a perfectly acceptable shortcut)
20g mayonnaise
80g Greek-style yoghurt
1½ tsp mild curry powder
1 tsp honey
2 ripe avocados, cut in half lengthways and stoned

Heat 85ml of oil in a small saute pan on a medium-high heat, then fry the shallot and chilli for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the shallot is golden and fragrant. Add the curry leaves, fry for 20 seconds, until crisp, then take off the heat and stir in the coriander and black mustard seeds, lime skin and a pinch of salt. Set aside for 20 minutes, to cool and infuse, then discard the lime skin.

Put the remaining tablespoon of oil in a medium sauté pan on a high heat, then fry the prawns and an eighth of a teaspoon of salt for a minute or two, stirring, until the prawns are cooked through and fragrant. Transfer to a plate to cool.

Mix the mayonnaise, yoghurt, curry powder, honey, two teaspoons of lime juice and an eighth of a teaspoon of salt in a small bowl. Finely chop half the prawns and stir into the sauce; toss the remaining prawns in the infused oil.

To serve, put an avocado half on each of four small plates and sprinkle with a small pinch of salt. Spoon in the creamy sauce, then top with the whole prawns, allowing some to fall off around the avocado. Drizzle each portion with a tablespoon of infused oil and sprinkle with the crisp aromatics. Serve with a lime wedge.

The music to go with this dish has to be equally punchy. That is why I am opening with Laura Marling. I saw her set at the recent Glastonbury and she was excellent once more. Here's Salinas.

Second track tonight comes a band I discovered only a year or so ago. The Airborne Toxic Event makes music as unusual as their name. This melody is as haunting as the emotions that probably motivated.



The last song is a classic, reworked by the flamenco singer El Cigala. Cheo Feliciano made this salsa number a worldwide hit and now it has been given a new lease of life by El Cigala. El Ratón (The Mouse). Enjoy.

Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum

Photograph: Louise Hagger for the Guardian. 

If you read my previous post you will understand why I have chosen this Yotam Ottolenghi's recipe tonight. In his latest column in The Guardian, Yotam waxed lyrical about his love for the cuisine of New Orleans, which he found both complex and cryptic. As an Ottolenghi enthusiast myself, I don't need much encouragement to follow the master. I will be cooking this dish this coming weekend. 

Chicken and prawn gumbo

4 chicken thighs, skin on and bone in
Salt and black pepper
60ml vegetable oil
70g plain flour
3 garlic cloves, peeled and roughly chopped
1 large onion, peeled and finely diced 
2 green peppers, deseeded and finely diced
2 celery sticks, finely diced
1½ tbsp Cajun spice blend (make your own or buy ready-made)
300g peeled raw prawns 
1 litre chicken stock
2 tbsp tomato paste
200g smoked pork belly (or smoky bacon), cut into 2cm pieces
200g cooked basmati rice (ie, made from about 80g uncooked rice)

Season the chicken with a quarter-teaspoon of salt and a generous grind of black pepper. On a medium flame, heat a tablespoon of oil in a large, heavy-based pan for which you have a lid, lay in the chicken thighs skin-side down and fry for four to five minutes, until golden brown. Turn the thighs, cover the pan, reduce the heat to medium and cook for 10 minutes, checking once or twice that the chicken isn’t sticking or burning (there should be enough fat in the pan for this not to happen). Transfer the chicken to a plate, leaving the fat in the pan (you should have about two tablespoons).

Add another three tablespoons of oil to the pan and warm gently on a medium heat. Add the flour, whisk to a smooth paste, then cook, whisking often, for 15-20 minutes, until the roux turns into a dark chocolate-coloured paste. Add the garlic, onion, peppers, celery and spice blend, and cook for five minutes, stirring often. Roughly chop five prawns, add to the pan and cook for five minutes, then pour in the stock, 350ml water and the tomato paste. Stir in the smoked pork and a teaspoon of salt, then leave the gumbo to simmer, stirring occasionally, for 20 minutes more. Meanwhile, remove the skin from the chicken thighs and tear the flesh off the bones in rough 4-5cm chunks.

Once the gumbo has simmered for 20 minutes, stir in the chicken, cook for 10 minutes more, then add the remaining prawns and cooked rice. Check the seasoning, simmer for a final three minutes, until the prawns are just cooked, and serve hot.

This is heavenly food from New Orleans. So, the first melody has to be Dixieland proper. Stand to one side because the saints go marching in, led by the one and only, Mr Louis Armstrong.

That gumbo is thick and filling. That's the way I want my music tonight. Preferably with a bass-driven helping and a guitar-led consistency. Enter Black Sabbath's Paranoid.




Food so exotic makes want to explore the same in music. I love Soapkills and their laid-back sound.




We go as we came. With Armstrong. I have never included the same musician twice in this section. There is enough music to go around. But, for some reason this recipe has given me the New Orleans bug and I cannot resist another dose of good ol' Dixieland. Enjoy.

Next post: "Thoughts in Progress", to be published on Saturday 13th May at 6pm (GMT)

Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum

 Photograph: Louise Hagger for the Guardian.

Maybe it is the success I had recently with a chicken and avocado salad I made for a colleague’s leaving do at work, but I am getting bolder with my veg and spices. This recipe comes courtesy of one of my favourite cooks, Yotam Ottolenghi. My only addition would be a Scotch bonnet chilli. Just to give the salad a bit of a kick.

Moroccan carrot salad with orange and pistachio

The orange blossom is a lovely addition to the dressing, but don’t buy a whole bottle just for the sake of a quarter-teaspoon. This salad is still lovely without it. Serves four.
650g carrots, peeled and coarsely grated
2 oranges, peeled and cut into 1cm pieces
½ small garlic clove, peeled and crushed
50g pistachios, toasted and chopped
20g coriander leaves
15g mint leaves

For the dressing

3 tbsp olive oil
¼ tsp orange blossom water (optional)
2 tsp honey
1½ tsp cumin seeds, toasted and lightly crushed
Finely grated zest of 1 lemon
3 tbsp lemon juice
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Whisk the dressing ingredients in a bowl with half a teaspoon of salt and a good grind of pepper. Add the salad ingredients, toss to coat and serve.

The music to go with this recipe must have that fresh feel, too. And because it is winter, it must also have that heart-warming quality that this season’s food has. First up are the Four Tops. Just because this song exudes the joy that fills up my kitchen when I’m cooking. Enjoy.



His voice is velvety, smooth and utterly ethereal. Maxwell’s cover of Kate Bush’s This Woman’s Work is as good as, if not better than, the original. It goes hand in hand with our crisp, spicy salad.



We finish with a fine daughter of Africa. Malian singer song-writer Oumou Sangare’s soulful voice is one that suits our aromatic salad very well.



Next Post: “Thoughts in Progress”, to be published on Saturday 4^th March at 6pm (GMT)

Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum

Photograph: Jonathan Lovekin for the Observer

Autumn is here. And you all know what that means. As it is customary most posts until early December will be autumn-scented. This one tonight is autumn-cooked. And who else but Nigel Slater to open the autumn celebrations? As you all know, I am a big fan of Slater's recipes and I cannot wait to cook this one.

The recipe

Soak 125g of moong dal – skinned and split mung beans – for 30 minutes in warm water.

Peel and roughly chop 1 medium onion, then cook it in 30g of melted butter over a moderate heat until translucent. Add 1 tbsp of mustard seeds and cook until they start to pop, then stir in 1 crushed clove of garlic. Peel and grate a 50g lump of ginger, stir into the onions then add a finely chopped red chilli. Continue cooking for 5 minutes, stirring regularly.

Stir in the contents of a 400g can of chopped tomatoes and a can of water and bring to the boil. Season with salt and black pepper then stir in the soaked and drained mung beans and leave to cook at a calm simmer for 30 minutes. Check the liquid level regularly. Lastly, stir in 1 tbsp of garam masala.

Place 2 large, flat mushrooms in a foil-lined oven dish. Baste them all over with 50g of melted butter, the juice of 1 lemon and 5 tbsp of water. Season, then scrunch the edges of the foil together to loosely seal. Bake in a preheated oven at 200C/gas mark 6 for about 20-25 minutes, basting as necessary.

Check the dal for seasoning, then divide between 2 large bowls, place a baked mushroom on top and spoon over any baking juices. Enough for 2.

The trick

Soaking the moong dal reduces the cooking time considerably, but it is not entirely necessary. It is worth keeping an eye on the liquid levels while they are cooking should you choose not to pre-soak the beans, topping up with a little vegetable stock or water as necessary.

The twist

Use small brown lentils instead of mung beans. Instead of serving with baked mushrooms use the dal as a stuffing for baked aubergines, stirring the aubergine flesh into the dal as it cooks.

The music to go with this hearty recipe has to be equally warm. That is why I open with a favourite of mine. Never mind that he is eighty-something and getting on a bit. He has a new album out and to me Leonard Cohen is autumn. Especially when he is a "Marianne" mood.



It is a mystery to me as to why Cristina Branco is not better known as the outstanding fado singer she is. After all, she is just as good as Mariza, the "queen" of this popular Portuguese musical genre. Well, you can see for yourselves now.



A decade-old tango re-worked as a flamenco melody. What is not to like about it? Especially when performed by none other than Estrella Morente. Listening to this song reminds me of the sound of dry leaves as you step on them in autumn. What a gem.



I know what you're thinking. I do not play a lot of what could be considered "mainstream" music on my blog, but occasionally I make exceptions. I have never owned a The Corrs record but I certainly like a few of their songs, especially the singles. This one is one of them. Love the autumnal feeling it leaves me with.



Next Post: "Thoughts in Progress", to be published on Saturday 29th October at 6pm (GMT)

Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum

According to one of my favourite cooks,Yotam Ottolenghi, "there’s something about eggs as the essence of life, the start of it all, that inextricably links them to that first spark of romance". That is why I immediately thought of using one of his recipes for my regular food and music section tonight. The melodies you will find below have that rootsy, earthy feeling. This is a let-go-back-to-the-start sort of post.

Braised eggs with leek and za’atar

This is delicious with crusty white bread for dipping. To braise the eggs (the method used in all today’s recipes), cover the pan after breaking them in; they will cook relatively quickly, in five minutes or so. The downside is that the yolks in the finished dish will be obscured by a thin layer of opaque, cooked white. If the sight of bright, yellow-orange yolks is important to you, cook the eggs uncovered, and for longer, on the lowest possible heat, while at the same time taking care that the sauce doesn’t catch. Serves six.

30g unsalted butter
2 tbsp olive oil
4 leeks, trimmed and sliced 0.5cm thick
Salt and black pepper
1 tsp cumin seeds, toasted and crushed
1 small preserved lemon, seeds discarded, skin and flesh finely chopped
300ml vegetable stock
200g baby spinach leaves
6 eggs
90g feta, broken into roughly 2cm pieces
1 tbsp za’atar

In a large saute pan for which you have a lid, melt the butter with a tablespoon of oil on a medium-high heat. Once the butter starts to foam, add the leeks, a half-teaspoon of salt and a generous grind of pepper. Fry for three minutes, stirring often, until the leeks are soft, then add the cumin, lemon and vegetable stock, and boil for four or five minutes, until most of the stock has evaporated. Fold in the spinach, cook for a minute until wilted, then turn the heat to medium.

Make six indentations in the mixture (a large spoon is the best tool for this), then break an egg into each space. Sprinkle the eggs with a generous pinch of salt, dot the feta around and about, then cover the pan and leave to simmer for four to five minutes, until the egg whites are set and the yolks still runny.

Mix the za’atar with the remaining oil, brush gently over the eggs so as not to break the yolks, then take to the table at once, to serve straight from the pan.

The first clip I bring you tonight is by one of Senegal's finest musicians: Baaba Maal and his unmistakable, sweet-toned voice. Splendid.



My second song tonight combines ancient Persian music and poetry and it is performed in the trance-like cadence of Mamak Khadem. Spellbinding.



My last track on this food- and music-themed post comes courtesy of Show of Hands, a duo-cum-trio (with the occasional collaboration of double-bassist Miranda Sykes). This is a lovely, folksy, foot-tapping number that will hopefully warm your heart in the same way our recipe has done tonight. Enjoy



Next Post: "Saturday Evenings: Stay In, Sit Up and Switch On", to be published on Saturday 5th March at 6pm (GMT)

Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum

Photograph: Jonathan Lovekin for the Observer

I've heard a lot about kale recently. This recipe might just serve as an introduction for me to this vegetable and its benefits. Plus, it is autumn and that means, Nigel Slater's cooking!

Sweet potato and kale bubble and squeak recipe

The recipe
Peel 1kg of sweet potatoes and cut them into large pieces. Place them in a steamer basket or colander and steam over boiling water for about 30-40 minutes, until tender to the point of a knife.

In a dry frying pan, toast ½ tsp of cumin seed and ½ tsp of chilli flakes. Remove and mix them with ½ tsp of sweet, mild, ground paprika.

Lift the sweet potatoes out, tip them into a bowl (or the saucepan emptied of its water) and mash them thoroughly with a good 50g of butter, some salt and a grinding of black pepper, and the toasted cumin, chilli and paprika.

Remove the tough stalks from 150g of kale (you need 100g trimmed weight). Cook the kale for a minute or two in a saucepan with about 1cm of water, covered by a lid. Drain and roughly chop.

Fold the kale into the sweet potato. Pile into a dish, top with a few knobs of butter and bake for about 25 minutes until lightly crisped on the top. Serves 2, generously.

The trick
A steamer basket or a colander, balanced over a pan of boiling water, is probably a more successful way of cooking sweet potato than boiling it. The exceptionally soft flesh will collapse if cooked in water and produce a soggy mash. Toast the cumin seeds and chilli flakes in a dry frying pan, using no oil or butter, watching very carefully, as they will burn in a heartbeat.

The twist
Some floury Maris Pipers will be good here instead of the sweet potato, or use half potato and half celeriac. Kale is just one of the suitable brassicas: Brussels sprouts, savoy cabbage or purple kale will all work well. Sprouts are best quartered, shredded or separated into individual leaves. Fold small pieces of cheese, a good 150g, through the hot potato when it is mashed. Blue cheeses work exceptionally well here, in which case I would omit the cumin.

The music

I would like to start this section tonight with my latest musical crush, Karine Polwart. I have just had a few of her CDs ordered for my birthday. You can judge by yourselves. Her voice sounds like pure autumn gold.



Another lady is my second guest tonight. All the way from Spain it is the hard-hitting, take-no-prisoners pop sensation, Bebe. Another voice that bubbles like the bubble and squeak recipe I have offered you tonight. Caution, though, this is no easy-listening pop, but pop with meaning and depth. Just like autumn.



Another CD I am getting soon. This is the type of collaboration I love, the sort of coming-together that makes music the beautiful human phenomenon it is. Ballake Sissoko and Vincent Segal, the former, a kora player, the latter, a cellist, creating magic. Just like autumn food.




Next Post: "Summer Tale for an Autumn Day", to be published on Sunday 15th November at 10am (GMT)

Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum

Photograph: Jonathan Lovekin for the Observer

As I mentioned recently temperatures in the UK have apparently been playing on a see-saw. That matters not one iota to yours truly as part of my summer ritual every year is too look for recipes that complement the warm weather.

Veggies, please, look away now for this is yet another meat-rich dish. Pork belly, in this case.

As you know, if you have been reading this blog long, I am a fan of Nigel Slater’s cooking. Not just the cooking but also the way he writes and talks about food. He is an artist, as far as I am concerned. So, I shall let him pick the thread of tonight’s post from here.

The roast is resting – those precious 20 minutes after the Sunday joint and its crackling are taken from the oven and left to sit quietly before we carve. The roasting tin may no longer hold the meat, but there is much treasure there to plunder. We could make a simple gravy, and I usually do, dissolving the good things left by the roast into wine, stock or Marsala. But today I use it for something more substantial altogether.
What lies beneath the meat? Caramelised sugars mostly, sweet, gooey and firmly attached to the roasting tin. It is the concentrated essence of the meat, some charred herbs, sizzling fat, a sticky smudge of roasted garlic. A little magic perhaps. To waste it would be a crime.

I pour batter into the roasting tin. It will take 25 minutes in a hot oven, time enough to rest the meat and carve. But there is more to it than that. I have tossed some diced apple, softened first with a few thyme leaves, into the pan. The little cubes of apple sit in the batter, holding it down a bit, soaking up the juices and savour left behind by the pork. It arrives at the table a little late, slightly eccentric looking, but dark and golden, its surface all pits and furrows of batter and fruit, smelling of roast pork and herbs. I could have cooked the batter pudding separately, all spick and span like a clafoutis without the sugar, but that would be to miss out on the opportunity of using the good things left in the roasting tin; of exploring what lies beneath.

Pork belly with apple and roast potatoes

I ask my local butcher to leave the skin on the belly, but to score it in lines about 2cm apart or in a lattice pattern, whichever he thinks will produce the crispest crackling.

Serves 6

belly pork 1.5 kg, boned weight, skin scored

new potatoes 500g
olive oil 3 tbsp
rosemary 3 large sprigs
garlic 4 cloves

Set the oven at 220C/gas mark 8. Place the pork belly flat on the work surface, skin side down, then slice it horizontally, cutting almost all the way through, to give a large hinged flap. Season generously inside and out.

Put a pan of water on to boil and salt it. Wash the potatoes, but don’t feel the need to peel them. Cut each potato into three or four “coins” then lower them into the boiling water. When the potatoes are tender to the point of a knife, drain them carefully and tip them into a bowl.

Pour the olive oil over the potatoes, pull a few of the needles from the rosemary and add to the potatoes with a grinding of salt and black pepper. Place the pork in a roasting tin. Lay the potatoes, as near as possible in a single layer, in between the two layers of pork. Tuck the remaining sprigs of rosemary and the cloves of garlic amongst the potatoes. Pull the top flap of meat over the potatoes, then place in the oven and leave to sizzle for about 25 minutes.

Lower the heat to 180C/gas mark 4, then leave the pork to cook for about an hour and a half, basting occasionally. During this time the potatoes will soften and soak up some of the juices and fat from the meat.

Remove the pork from the oven, check the potatoes are fully tender, then remove from the tin and cover lightly with foil and leave to rest in a warm place. Serve the pork as it is, carving in thick strips, or utilise the roasting tin and its fat with the recipe below.

To get you in a summer mood, I will start with Thievery Corporation. In the same way the caramelised sugars drip onto the roasting tin, Radio Retaliation will drip into your eardrums. Such a beautiful catchy tune.

Talking of catchy, this next melody is by a band that started very raw-blues, but have mellowed down with the passing of time just like those charred herbs, sizzling fat and roasted garlic. The Black Key’s Fever is pure music heaven and groovy, too.

Let us go back now a few decades and sing along this classic. Beautiful vocals and harmonious accompaniment. Just like the diced apple soaking up the juices and savour left behind by the pork. Canned Heat’s On the Road Again is gorgeous.

We finish tonight with a Chilean rapper. Ana Tijoux first came to my attention when I started watching Breaking Bad. Her song 1977 was part of the series soundtrack. Got the album immediately and have been playing it nonstop ever since. Great artist, just like our dish tonight.

Next Post: “Saturday Evenings: Stay In, Sit Up and Switch On”, to be published on Saturday 20^th June at 6pm (GMT)